


For Dust Thou Art And Unto Dust Thou Shalt Return!

by dillonmania



Series: Another World [6]
Category: DCU, The Flash (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dead might perceive Halloween differently than the rest of us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Dust Thou Art And Unto Dust Thou Shalt Return!

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, Hamelin Electronics is Hartley's company. He (perhaps foolishly) employs Roscoe.

It was shortly before Halloween, and some of the employees at Hamelin had twisted Hartley’s arm into letting them throw a party. While it hadn’t been his idea, he was having a good time, mostly because it was James’ favourite holiday and of course he was there having a blast (occasionally literally). 

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that Roscoe was testy all day, and holed up in his office working while everyone else was having fun. He shouted at the receptionist when she played “Thriller” too loudly and tried to get him to dance. While his co-workers were accustomed to brusqueness, his irritable behaviour was a little more noticeable than usual, and eventually someone grumbled to the boss. That led to a visit.

“What?” Roscoe demanded rudely to a knock on the door. His tone softened slightly when he saw it was Hartley, if only due to hierarchy.  
“Is there something going on that I should know about? You’re putting a damper on the festivities.”  
“Far be it from me to be a party pooper,” came the sarcastic reply, and Hartley could practically hear his eyes rolling in their sockets.  
“What’s gotten into you?”  
“Have you forgotten what I am? That I too am dead, a ghost? A _monster?_ ”  
“You’re not a monster, Roscoe,” Hartley said patiently.  
“Halloween would certainly have you think so, parading around ridiculous and ugly caricatures of my kind. It’s insulting. Do you enjoy seeing foolish stereotypes of gay men? Then you have an idea of how I feel.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. Nobody ever meant to upset you, you know.”  
“See, you are not taking it seriously. That’s fine, I do not expect you to. You may change your tune once you die,” Roscoe muttered, completely unaware of the pun he’d just made.  
“That’s the thing -- we haven’t died, and we don’t know what to expect. So maybe people deal with it in different ways: some treat it light-heartedly to I guess deflect fear, and others go with the horror angle. Everybody knows they’re going to die, and we all have to cope with that,” Hartley suggested with a shrug. What else was there to say?

“Coping is all well and good, but they do not have to fetishize the dead nor portray us as some goddamned freakshow. We have feelings like everyone else. Do you think I enjoy existing like this, pretending to be alive when I am not? I despise it, I’d give anything to be inhabiting my original body. I hate these host bodies, I hate the sensation of not having a body, and I hate the living. As for those who enjoy horror, wait until they see what Hell is _really_ like.”  
“At least you aren’t bitter,” Hartley said wryly.  
“You laugh, but no one thought it amusing to pin up cartoonish images of your kind around the office.”

“Okay, I get it. Do you wanna explain this to everyone else?”  
Roscoe paused and thought about it for a moment. He wasn’t out to his co-workers about being a ghost possessing a stranger’s reanimated corpse; being an ex-supervillain was weird enough for most people to deal with. Almost nobody outside the Rogues’ circle knew about it, and those who did tended to react badly. His teeth audibly ground together.  
“...no.”  
“Sorry, Roscoe,” Hartley said with a sympathetic look and pat on the shoulder, because he really did understand a bit more now. “You can go home early if you like.”  
“I have work to do,” came the grouchy reply, and he looked back to his ledgers. “Just tell them to keep the music down, or I’ll show _them_ a Monster Mash.”

Hartley grinned, because despite Roscoe’s obviously pissed-off expression there was a slight smirk on his lips. At least his temper was calming somewhat.  
“I’ll make sure James doesn’t unveil this year’s prank until you get there. It’s going to be a good one, you won’t want to miss it,” Hartley assured him, and the other man nodded. It was always a privilege to watch a maestro in action.  
“Understood. Save me some candy, or Spencer will never stop begging.” And by ‘Spencer’, he of course meant himself…there was one sugary upside to Halloween.  
“Gotcha,” Hartley said as he made his way out, pausing to take down a cardboard cut-out of a buffoonish-looking ghost from the main boardroom. He had to start somewhere.


End file.
